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Vi hated thinking. It always led back to the same place and in her humble opinion, it just didn't help. It just made her feel so much worse, every time. She hated thinking, about what she had done, what she had created and the events she had inadvertently began the causation for. She hated thinking, so she just didn't do it. She went back to what she knew, what she had always known, the only thing that had kept her upright through thick and thin, through years of torture and poverty and a childhood tainted by those who believed that they were so much better than her.
Those who had never had to work like she had. They had everything handed to them on a goddamn silver platter, gold and diamond gifted to them just for being born into a family of wealth and class, who believed that they were above the citizens of the Undercity just because they had never needed to fight tooth and nail just for food, just to survive, just to protect the people they had loved and keep them safe for another hour. Those whose lungs weren't tainted by the harsh stain of the fissures, the toxic fumes that would lead to an untimely death and illness.
Those from Piltover. Snobby and rich, looking down at her while they drank from gold cups and wore clothing that was tailored especially for them, throwing around money with a carelessness that made everyone around them know what they had. Those who never and would never understand struggle like Vi did.
Vi went back to what she knew and what had been consistent. She went back to fighting.
At first, it was fine. It kept her mind occupied and her heart racing. It kept a heavy blanket over the thoughts of terror and longing that throbbed a deep ache in her heart every time she let her thoughts stray too far or spent too long alone, isolated in her own company, with nothing but the memories of what she had lost to keep her occupied. It was fine, she was occupied. She celebrated every win with drink after drink, letting the fuzzy numb slip down her throat and intoxicate her mind to keep her in a state of bliss for just a moment longer, she let herself go, drink after drink, win after win, again and again and again. Day after day after day, until she couldn't tell each day apart from the next, until even the cloudy buzz of the alcohol wasn't enough to cloud and shelter her from the world anymore.
When that happened and the buzz ended, she was suddenly thrown back into the act of thinking, of reflecting. It just made everything feel so much more real, so much more painful. Pain was a common occurrence in her life, she had spent years with it, she had become best friends with pain and everything it resulted in. She was used to the aches of bruises, the stinging of water against open wounds, of the feeling of blood trailing down her face, her nose, her mouth, her shoulders, her back. She was used to the sting and the ache. She had endured it for years. The memory of pain was one that never faded, the reminders of the weapons that slashed against her back, her stomach, the reminders of the fists, of the pipes, of the countless beatings that she had been the subject of.
Pain was common. But it was always physical.
It was never like this. This was a different pain. This was a different pain than the weight of cobble and stone on her back, of fists against her face, of fire licking the edges of her body, of whatever weapon the guards used to teach her a lesson hitting against her body, of claws delving into her abdomen. This was in her mind, in her stomach, a heavy weight that dragged her down with every passing moment. It was a pain she hated because it was one that she couldn't just ignore, one that she never knew how to fix, one that drove her insane with every passing moment.
With the pain she knew, she could ignore. She could slap a bandage on it, roll her sleeves down, splash water on it and hope for the best. With that pain, she knew how to get rid of it and how it would leave, whether that be sooner or later.
This pain was a deep rooted pain that she didn't know how to cure. It was one that infested and rotted itself inside of her brain like a growing tumor, one that made her heart beat faster, a pain that made her feel empty, a sickly feeling of longing and regret that she didn't know how to cure. It was agonizing. It wormed in her brain until she couldn't sleep at night, bottles littering the floor in a desperate, pitiful attempt to escape her own head. It worked, for a little while. Before it came back, worse than the last time, more aggressive. The empty pit in the bottom of her stomach feeling like a cesspool of guilt and regret.
She hadn't felt a pain like that since Vander died.
What would he say if he could see her now? Would he be disappointed, let down by the sight of his daughter in her state now, turning to anything possible to ease the pain. Would he hate her? Resent her for what she did to her sister, would he be enraged by what she had done, how she had hurt her sister, how she had turned her back and ran away, lashed out in a blinding anger that she couldn't control. The rage of grief taking over every sense that she thought she had a hold on, would he hate her? What would he say, if he could see how far she had fallen?
What would her parents say, if they were here? How different would her life be, if they had lived? Would she be happy? Would she still be with her sister? Not Jinx, but Powder. Would she have been a better sister with her parents there to guide her along the road?
Would she be here now? How different would she be?
How much pain would she be in?
The fighting provided an odd sense of abnormal comfort for her. The control she had in the arena, the cheers and screams of the crowd, egging her on as she hooked left and right, a power in her fists that gave her the control that she had been longing for since she was a child. The contact of skin on bone, the pain that rippled through her body like a shockwave that kept her going, reminded her that she was still alive, that she had survived, that she had gotten this far. She only needed to go a little further and she would be living, not just surviving.
She had control of the power she held in her hands, the aggression and anger that she let out with every punch, every fight taken like a battle to survive. Every fight letting her live. Every punch giving her a reason to survive.
Reminding her how she had survived.
The clubs in the Topside were drastically different from those in Zaun, snobby rich kids who had been here to separate themselves from the family they had been born into and create a life of their own, no previous knowledge of survival, no experience in surviving and a fearful sneer plastered on their faces. Vi remembered the way they had snickered at her when she had entered the ring, how they had laughed when her opposition landed the first blow, how they had muttered about the state of Vi, loudly declaring how they hoped she didn't bring in fleas or disease.
She had ignored them. At least, until she lifted her fists and inhaled and shaking breath, gritting her teeth with a new found determination that encouraged her to keep going, to prove them wrong. To stick it in their faces that she wasn't just another grimy rat from the Undercity. That she was so much more, that she could be so much more.
Every punch she landed was impacted with the thoughts of the people she had failed throughout her life. Of every person she had let die, of every disappointed look she had been granted with.
With every promise she had broken.
She hit a punch with the memory of failing Mylo.
She hit a punch with the memory of failing Claggor.
She got up from the ground with the memory of failing Vander.
She lifted her arms in defense with the memory of failing Ekko.
She let herself bleed with the memory of destroying Powder.
She screamed in rage with the memory of creating Jinx.
She punched and screamed in the rage of how she left Caitlyn.
A soft smile, grief and sadness etching on the edges, creases in her skin making her look older than she was, hands that shook with dried blood, hair that stuck to her forehead with sweat, a pathetic display of vulnerability. One that Vi hadn't seen before then, a look of incoming dread, the fear of future echoing through watering, teary-eyed blue.
"You can stay. We- we can figure this out. We've done it before."
"I can't stay, cupcake. Not now." Vi regretted every word that dropped from her mouth before they had even left, she regretted how she had left Caitlyn, yet again leaving her standing in the rain, a heavy hue and a settling smoke behind them, "If I stay- I- I don't know what will happen."
"Where will you go?" Vi tried to ignore the clear pain in her voice, the strain to keep tears down, the cracked wobble in her voice as the events of the day finally started to catch up to them all slowly.
"Anywhere but here."
"Vi-"
"Away from here."
Vi ignored the way Caitlyn flinched back at the words, the hurt that was clear in her features. The way she took a step back as Vi rolled her shoulders back, heaving out a sigh as she stepped forwards. Every step away from Caitlyn felt like a rock was tied down to her shoes, like she was dragging a weight along with her body, a weight that got so much lighter when she was with Caitlyn.
But she didn't go back. She didn't turn back. She walked down the streets, sweat and blood sticking her clothes to her skin and her hair to her head.
She left without another word.
Just as she had left Powder.
Then she lost her control again.
She watched as another beaten foe clambered out of the ring, wiping blood off of their face in a daze, she watched as people cheered and jeered at her and her foe, she ignored a cash prize that was offered out to her, shrugging the offer without a word. She watched but she wasn't seeing it. It felt like she was an outsider, watching in a fuzzy daze as her life sprawled out ahead of her, day after day, fight after fight. A life that she was walking through, a setting in her brain having been switched off, setting her down to autopilot as she walked through the streets in a starstruck daze. She was living a life that didn't feel like hers, waking up in dazes every now and then, confusion that struck her like a dagger as she shook the drunk daze out of her system once again.
She watched as the crowd cheered, almost spotting a familiar face in the sea of strangers to her, like she was looking out for someone in particular, knowing that she would be disappointed every time.
She sat at a bar, unknown faces chatting and laughing around her as she pulled up her hood further, trying to cover her hair as best as she could. Going back to Zaun was a dangerous game now, with Jinx nowhere to be found, with people knowing of her relations with the Topsiders, with a life that had been taken from her without any questions. She knew she had to lay low, so she did, she brought the cheapest hair dye and face paint that she could, a sloppy hair dye job done with shaking hands and a quick need for a drastic change, anything that would disguise her, anything that would give her a different look, one that wouldn't be obvious at first look.
She painted her face in black face paint, covering up any details that would make her identity obvious, covering her tattoos, her scars, everything the people could identity her by.
She didn't belong in Zaun anymore. Yet she couldn't live in the overwhelming lights of Piltover, not when she knew what they had done, how they were living in ignorance, not when her sister was the one who had destroyed their council, not when it was only a matter of time before she would be known as Jinx's sister. Not with the possibilities that the Enforcers would be after her now.
Caitlyn wouldn't let that happen.
Caitlyn has no reason to care for her now. Vi's use to Caitlyn and the council had reached an end. She wouldn't go back to Stillwater, she would never set foot within the concrete confines that she had spent years within. Her childhood, her family, had been stolen from her by the Enforcers. She wasn't losing it again.
She just needed to be in control.
She wouldn't go back to Stillwater.
Even the thought was enough for her chest to tense up, her heart beating in her chest so fast she was almost certain that it would explode, that she was about to throw it up out of her chest. Her palms were sweating as she gripped the table of the bar, a shaky exhale as her hands shook and her thoughts swam.
She needed a drink. She whistled for a bartender's attention, placing a quick order through a shaking voice, ordering whatever would soften the blow of her memories the quickest.
Vi didn't remember getting the drink, nor did she remember drinking it. She didn't remember walking back to her apartment. She blinked through a haze of blurred vision, walking through a room that felt distant. Almost fake but not quite.
"Look at yourself, Vi."
A voice whispered to her, a hazy breath in the wind, a familiar voice that she had been longing to hear ever since she had left it.
"Cupcake." Vi almost whispered the name, as if saying it was a curse, a bad omen, something that shouldn't be said, "You're here."
"I am." Caitlyn's voice was hazy, a distant call that Vi could hear so clearly and yet so fuzzily, "You should've been there with me though."
Vi's face dropped to a frown, a guilt struck look of regret as Caitlyn stared at her. She could feel the judgement, the distaste and the anger in Caitlyn's blank expression, a look of understanding anger in the face of the woman she craved to see.
"I didn't want you to get hurt because of me."
"Of course. I just wished you had stayed."
"Cupcake, I know- I- I'm sorry. I," Vi couldn't even think, her fists clenched and relaxed in instinct, anger at nobody but herself. She had no excuse. She should've tried harder. She should've done more. It was all her fault, really, "I'm sorry, I never should've.."
Caitlyn's face softened, she let her hand drift to Vi's, squeezing it in an act of reassurance, a drastic shift up from her show a moment prior, a shift in emotions that Vi never wanted to end, the comfort that she didn't deserve from Caitlyn's hand on her own.
"Hush, Vi. I know. You did what you needed."
"I'm sorry."
"I know you are." Caitlyn's tone was soft, caring, almost enough to soothe her to sleep, a tone she didn't know she needed so badly until she was being presented with it now, a tone of caring protection, one that promised her safety and security, a promise for her to finally be looked after, "You look so different."
"I didn't want to risk being caught," The words came out in a slurred jumble, but Caitlyn still understood them, "I missed you, Cupcake."
"I missed you too, Violet."
"Don't go." Vi whispered, a look of plead in her eyes as Caitlyn sighed, "Please."
Caitlyn looked guilty, and Vi's heart sank. She knew it was too good to be true, to let herself go in a moment of vulnerability, presenting her true, hidden colors to the first person since Vander who had shown her true unconditional kindness. She let the child inside of her go as Caitlyn held her hand and whispered sickly sweet lies into her ear until she was convinced that every word that spilled from Caitlyn was true.
"I have to."
"Just a moment longer."
Desperation.
"Goodbye, Vi."
Violet blinked, and Caitlyn was gone. All that was left was the traces of warmth in her heart and a sickening longing for Caitlyn to come back, to speak like that to her once again, to give her the love that she was pleading out so pathetically for. Quiet sobs that Vi roughly pushed away with a defeated sigh, letting her head fall against the back of the chair, the loud, jarring whirring of the air conditioning along with the smell of vomit, stale alcohol and smoke filling her senses.
Vi sighed and ran a hand down her face. Tomorrow she would do it all again.